Poetry 2018 Longlist, Rajat Tiwari

What do I write for?

What do I write for?

For the soldiers of my sanity

Who’ve run amok like wandering ghosts on a pathless pursuit?

For the suturing of cerebral wounds

excavating of the endless truths?

Truths? There are several, one yours and others mine. Do I write to entertain it? Escape it? Forget it or remind?

What do I write for?

 

Do I stand for all your dots time couldn’t really connect at all in the end

Or do I embody the words you never spoke, those messages you wrote, but never could send?

For the stories in you, the ages outgrow

For the person in you they’ll never get to know

What do I write for?

 

For the molten candles laying bare by the Indiagate

Yet to see the light of day,

Homeless screams in Syrian alleys

And the slaughtered humans of beef-ban

With their corpses cursing with ironical acche-din comebacks

And the night she left home..and never came back

What do I write for?

 

 

 

 

 

For the price I pay

To exist in a way

the world demands more than I,

For the voice inside

which stammers till I

Put it to page to clear out the wrinkles and lies

What do I write for?

 

For the circus of my raucous desire

In the wombs of agony’s raging ire

And the ghosts of tales I sew at nights

which mornings soon forget

The heaps of dust night wipes off head

Come sun which gather back in jest

What do I write for?

 

 

For the weary faces, in suffocating spaces,

Who like silent leaves on a tree wait for a wind to pass by so that they flutter celebrating life again

What do I write for?

 

 

Does it even matter now?

Not having a purpose sometimes,

Makes up the journey of a lifetime

Do you even fathom how?

 

 

What if I abandon all the reason and rhyme?

Wallow in abstraction,

Set no endeavors upon to act

Write as a matter of myth not fact,

Make words run carefree in fields endless

Tire them, haywire them, no regret business

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like pearls in seas and gems in mines

I search for words

In titillating riverines,

 

And then words

Like kids

Tip-tapping their feet

Come running from behind

 

Placing their frosty fingertips

On my forlorn eyes,

And then I,

Gulp down,

The stubborn-stone lump in my throat,

And I feel it crawling down till my guts and more,

Stirring up a tornado below,

Only the pages shall know the rest to follow.

 

  • Rajat Tiwari

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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